


Alexandrite and Aliases

by ChokolatteJedi



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Aliases, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Case Fic, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forgery, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Holly Poly, Hurt/Comfort, Jewelry, Multi, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Post-Neal Caffrey's Tracking Anklet Removal, Time Skips, Undercover, gemstones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChokolatteJedi/pseuds/ChokolatteJedi
Summary: Neal and Diana go undercover in a joint taskforce sting, but after a smooth beginning, it all goes to hell
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49
Collections: Holly Poly 2020





	Alexandrite and Aliases

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Huntress79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/gifts).



> Set post-anklet, but goes AU mid-season two, before Adler and his treasure screwed everything up for our gang. Assume all of the trust-breaking things after that never happened.

"James?" Neal called out cheerfully as they entered the small boutique.

"George!" James Taylor immediately emerged from behind the counter with a large smile. Slightly older, with hints of grey in his blonde hair, James still maintained his athletic physique from his college years. He gave Neal's hand a firm shake, glanced at Diana over his shoulder, and nodded once, clearly understanding her presence and dismissing her.

Diana was pulling duty as his bodyguard — or rather, George Donnelly's bodyguard — today, and was much better at looking and acting the part than Peter usually was.

"I grew up with bodyguards," Diana had reminded him with an eye roll when Neal commented on it in the car, as though that should (and it did) easily explain her ability to mimic one perfectly.

"Has Marrian finally found a young, hot quarterback to replace you with yet?" Neal teased even as he added a friendly back slap to his handshake.

"I think she's moved on to baseball players," James replied easily.

"Well that shows a lack of taste," Neal — George — shook his head. James had been a quarterback himself, in college, but had never been good enough to make the baseball team, and it was still a sore point years later.

"It does; what about Nancy? I know she made partner; you gonna retire and live off her hotshot lawyer money now?"

George laughed even as he reached for his wallet. "You of all people know how expensive sports equipment is," he showed off a picture of a dark-haired, pre-teen, boy in a soccer uniform. "Some of Nancy's nephews upstate play hockey and now Dillon wants to do that in addition to soccer."

"You'll need a second job just to pay off all that gear," James agreed, smiling at the photo. "Never understood those hockey types."

"I hear ya," George tucked the photo back away. "You know I'm more of a biathlon guy myself, but they took Dillon out on their frozen pond when we were up there last Christmas and he fell in love. You know how boys are."

"Oh I know," James agreed, holding out a hand to escort them towards the back of the boutique. "Jeffrey's in the CIF championships right now, and Junior's made his college teams."

"No! No. Don't tell me he's in college now?"

"Freshman at the ole Alma Mater!" James beamed.

"They grow up so fast!" George shook his head.

They had reached the door in the back, and James quickly opened the door, holding it and waving them inside.

Neal took a moment to glance around, mind working busily. It had been a risk, using George Donnelly again after Peter had blown the alias before, but Neal had done some fast talking with Randy about how he occasionally helped the Bureau, after they'd caught "George" with a less than perfect provenance, and he thought he'd salvaged the name. Besides, George was the only of Neal's aliases that fit this job, and they didn't have the time to whip up a bureau one.

It was one thing to backstop an identity, but actually getting into the right circles, making a name for himself, proving that he knew what he was talking about — that wasn't necessary for a basic office job, but when dealing with jewelry guys at this level it was. Not to mention that their best option already knew Neal as George, and showing up as a new, FBI-minted alias would raise even more red flags.

It was a risk, but one Neal had been willing to take. James hadn't seemed off, at all, and made no indications that he knew that Neal wasn't George, so it seemed that his cover was intact after all. There was still risk, but for now the plan could go ahead.

They were in an office/workroom, with locked supply cabinets and workbenches for gem-cutting and jewelry-making alongside James's messy desk. It looked almost exactly as Neal remembered it. Striding forward, he scooped up a framed photo from the desk that showed James with his arm draped over the shoulders of a sandy-haired boy that shared many of his features. Both sported matching Michigan State sweatshirts and beaming smiles. "Wow, Junior looks so much like you," Neal — George — said. "This is a great shot; tell me you're using this one for the Christmas card this year."

"Oh I want to," James chortled behind them, "But you know Marrian makes all those decisions."

"Nancy's the same," George agreed. He slid into the seat before the desk, feeling Diana take her place behind him, as a good bodyguard should.

James took his own seat behind the desk and looked more serious. "So, shall we get down to business?"

"Of course," George held out his hand and Diana immediately placed the briefcase in it. "I've got a client who wants a family heirloom restored," he began, snapping open the case. "There are few people I'd trust to do the restoration, and your name is the top of that list." James would appreciate the honesty in that statement, and if he wouldn't take the job, it wouldn't be odd if George went to someone else on his "list".

George opened the case and turned it to face James, who's eyes lit up at the sight of it. It was a bib-style collar necklace, made of a lattice of gems — of which a handful were missing. "That's white gold, not silver, of course," George explained. "I don't know if you've got a man who can get you the Alexandrite or sapphires, but I've already made arrangements for the rubies." He and Moz had made those as well, and would be sending them along shortly if James agreed to the job.

He continued, "I had someone I thought I could trust to get me sapphires, but last time he tried to include a fake, so…" George shrugged in a 'that's the price of doing business' kind of way, and James nodded sympathetically.

"It can be hard to find trustworthy sources these days," James agreed. Nothing in his look or tone indicated that he knew George was an alias, but Neal would compare notes with Diana later. Georges's glasses had been specially made to include a camera this time — their higher ups didn't trust Neal around these gems without that insurance, Diana beside him or no — so Peter and Jones would also be looking for deception in the feed.

"The large one here," George pointed at the center, where a broken fixture had once held the heart of the design, "was Alexandrite — 10 carats — great grandpa had to take it out and sell it during the depression, as I understand it. I told her that Alexandrite of that size is hard to find; if only grandpa had sold all of the sapphires and rubies instead! But even when I told her the likely price range she wanted to go ahead; she wants to wear it when she walks down the aisle. I had no idea what the term Bridezilla meant before — Nancy was entirely normal about it all, thank God — but I do now!"

James nodded, still looking over the necklace. "Is it a solo piece?"

"No, no, matching earrings and a bracelet, but they weren't touched." George explained.

"Thank god," James agreed. "Well of course I can do this for you, George. When's the wedding?"

"Three months, but the necklace needs to be ready in two — some kind of photoshoot, I guess."

"That'll be tight, but lucky for you I've got an Alexandrite guy," James said smugly.

"You are my savior!" George sighed with relief. "This is why you're the top of my list!"

They quickly finished with the minutiae of schedules, ruby delivery, and payment, with George promising to send a bottle of expensive wine with this year's Christmas cards, and then Neal and Diana were back on the street, climbing into the fancy car as Jones — playing their driver for the day — held open the door.

"Well?" Peter immediately demanded over the car's coms.

"You heard it, he took the bait," Neal explained absently, more concerned with slipping through his mind, shedding George and reclaiming Caffery.

"But I don't know the man; any tells? Any subtle signs that he knows what's up?"

"Not that I saw, Boss," Diana offered.

Opening his eyes, once again Neal Caffery, Neal shook his head. "I don't think he suspected anything. If he's not the source of the fakes, then his _Alexandrite man_ almost certainly is. We'll get him."

* * *

The bureau had gotten a tip from Europol that someone new had entered the international gem market and was apparently able to forge Alexandrite; long considered impossible because of the way the gems naturally changed color. With four small gems of actual Alexandrite provided by Europol, Neal had crafted the rest of the necklace, making the fake sapphires and rubies needed to complete the piece. Mozzie had done a bit of the finicky filigree bits purely because of the time constraints; sleeping early and then taking over when Neal sacked out for the night. He wasn't thrilled to be working with Europol, but their deadline was too tight for Neal to do it alone.

It had been a furious week and a half of work, but the result was a masterpiece, and should be enough to fool even James Taylor. And now that Neal was finished with it, with the fake and real stones in James's hands, he could finally lose his Europol shadow, sent to make sure that Neal or Mozzie didn't abscond with the actual gems they had been loaned.

Now that Neal had made the handoff, Europol and the FBI were running the joint surveillance of Taylor for the next two months, while Peter's team moved on to other cases until it was time to go back and reclaim the necklace. With the actual gems in Taylor's hands, Neal was finally out from under Europol's suspicious eye.

More importantly than just regaining his privacy, losing his shadow meant that Neal didn't have to return to June's tonight. Though he still used the apartment on occasion, since his tracker had come off three months ago he had permanently moved in with the Burkes. Of course, that was something that needed to be kept hidden from the Bureau as long as both he and Peter worked there — Intra-team relationships were a no go, and Neal refused to be on anyone else's team — so Neal had spent the last two weeks at June's. Tonight, though, as just the two of them left the office, without the European agents, they would be able to drive straight to Brooklyn, no stop-off in Manhattan needed.

Neal was too exhausted to truly appreciate this fact, as much as he had dreamed of ripping off Peter and El's clothes while pouring molten materials into molds in the middle of the night. He was enough of a realist to know that he wouldn't be up for anything more strenuous than sleeping tonight.

That was fine with Neal, though — sleeping with Peter and El was better than anything without them, even sex. As a former playboy and constant flirt, Neal was slightly appalled when he realized that truth, but it also made him feel warm inside, so he accepted it as gracefully as possible.

"El's going to be out late tonight," Peter's voice broke through Neal's thoughts. "She's got that gala—"

"—Zwirner in Chelsea, I remember," Neal filled in, because now that Peter mentioned it, of course he remembered that. Neal was originally supposed to attend, before Europol had commandeered he and Peter two weeks ago.

"She said she'll bring leftovers, but we know you've been putting in some long hours…" Peter trailed off.

"I'll be fine," Neal assured him.

"I know you're perfectly capable of going at this kind of pace for weeks, but you're also allowed to stop and get sleep if you need it," Peter said, a mild rebuke in his tone.

They'd had this discussion before, when Neal had collapsed in the middle of the office after a particularly hard month's caseload. Peter had been less than thrilled to learn how hard Neal was pushing himself after the whole Fowler mess, determined to give the Bureau no excuse to extend his parole. Peter had been frustrated that Neal wasn't taking care of himself, and made Neal promise to do so from then on. He wasn't going to be sent back to prison, or have a week's time added to his tracker, if he needed to take a week off for having the flu.

"I could take a nap until she gets home," Neal allowed. "But some foods are not to be desecrated by _nuking_ them in a microwave tomorrow. It's tonight or never."

"Good man," Peter said, patting his leg and ignoring Neal's lofty explanation as usual.

* * *

Peter frowned as he watched Neal quietly flip through a case file at his desk. Neal had dutifully taken a nap on the couch, as promised, and so Peter had woken him up when El came home, as he promised.

She and Neal had sat at the table, picking over leftovers with names that Peter couldn't pronounce, gossiping about both the art and the patrons at the gala. Peter had sat on the couch with Satchmo and a beer, watching the game on low and leaving them to it. El had always had this side of her, appreciating the finer parts of food and art and society. Peter had never been able to connect with her on that level, though he had listened as much as he could.

Neal, on the other hand, easily filled that need, and the two of them were often able to communicate on a level that Peter was clearly too plebeian to understand. Tonight, though, he kept an eye on them, and at the first yawn, he chivvied Neal into bed. They would only be sleeping tonight — El was also exhausted from the lead up to the gala — and by the time Peter had finished letting Satchmo out one last time, both of his lovers were sound asleep.

Today, Neal appeared to be his usual bright, chipper self, but Peter knew it was an act. Neal wouldn't make up for two weeks of short nights in one night, even with his earlier catnap. He was tempted to order Neal to stay home and rest, but especially with the extra eyes on them from Europol he couldn't risk showing favoritism.

Instead, he had handed Neal a pile of cold case files to flip through, assured that such work would keep Neal resting quietly at his desk. Aside from the lack of sleep, Peter had watched Neal forge gems before, and the work was strenuous. His body needed a break from the physical exertion as much as his mind needed to catch up on sleep.

Peter knew, intellectually, that Neal had lived through worse in the past. Probably even when actually forging gems, come to think of it. Criminals pushed themselves when they needed to and rested only when they could, and Neal was no exception. Neal was also particularly good at hiding how he felt.

It was something that Peter should have realized, especially when Neal had been working with him for two years without appearing to ever get sick. Yet somehow it had caught him completely by surprise the day Neal slumped over his desk, having worked himself to exhaustion. That heart-stopping moment of fright was what had also made Peter finally admit to himself (and then El) how he felt about Neal.

But there was no reason for Neal to push himself so hard now. Yes, Europol had set them on a tight deadline, but now that the handoff had been made there was no reason that Neal couldn't relax for a few days.

Neal had insisted on coming in, though, and his point was well made that Europol might find his absence suspicious, after they were so wary of giving him the gems. The last thing he needed was for them to interpret him not coming in this morning as him potentially taking off with the gems.

That didn't stop Peter from watching him work, and worrying every time Neal rubbed his forehead tiredly.

* * *

The surveillance teams had gathered intel on Taylor's "Alexandrite guy," and now were just waiting on Neal getting the necklace back to check and see if they were indeed fakes. If so, they could swoop in and arrest both of them, and neatly wrap up the New York end of this forgery ring.

Neal had consented to leaving early on Thursday and taking a long weekend to recuperate after the handoff (provided that Peter did as well), and with a few more relaxing weekends and weeks of sleeping well, he was back to normal before the month was out. The second month had also passed in a blur of other cases for the team — a new lead on a cold bonds case, opening an investigation into securities fraud, two art authentications, one gallery stakeout, and three less-than-scintillating cases of mortgage fraud sprinkled throughout — but finally the week had come.

So today Neal had descended back into George Donnelly, and Diana was back in her more-stoic-than-usual bodyguard role. Jones was once again playing their driver, and also first call in coordinating backup. Peter, as before, was hanging back in the surveillance room, ostensibly coordinating with the Europol guys but mostly chafing at the fact that all of his team was undercover here without him.

Neal and Diana entered the boutique exactly five minutes before their 10 AM appointment, and she immediately glanced around, taking in details as a good bodyguard — or agent — should. "No customers," she muttered to Neal. They'd been alone last time too.

"Very exclusive clientele," Neal explained in the same low tone. "This area isn't exactly teeming with windowshoppers." In fact, the unusual location had been a good thing for the team, as the abandoned warehouse across the street and down one was the perfect place for the surveillance teams to hole up.

Then, at normal volume, George called out, "James?"

"Ah, George!" the voice came from the back office, and not behind the counter. A moment later James Taylor emerged. "Your timing is impeccable as always!"

George grinned as he strode forward, "Well, my father used to say, 'early is on time—"

"— on time is late," James finished with him, reaching out for a handshake. "I think there must have been a memo back then."

"I've heard Nancy's father say the same, come to think about it," George agreed easily. "Maybe they used to teach it in school or something."

"Maybe."

"Now, at the risk of being rude, I cannot _wait_ to see that piece restored to her former glory," George smiled charmingly.

"I don't blame you one bit," James chuckled, leading the way to the office again. "You can always picture it, of course — you need to, to figure out how to restore it, after all — but nothing compares to seeing it all put together again."

"Exactly! I was telling a client just the other day — 'Carlos,' I said, 'You think it looks good _now_ , with the dirt and the age and the _story_ , but wait until you see it all cleaned up! You won't even recognize it!'"

"More jewelry for me?" James asked hopefully as they reached the office. A young, dark-haired, man was working at the gem-cutting desk this time, but he didn't even glance up as they entered. George's briefcase was nowhere to be seen.

George sighed. "I wish! No, ceremonial glaives — a kind of polearm. He likes the fact that they've got all the dirt and blood and whatnot on them, but his wife, Karen, — she's a peach, runs her own online bakery — hates the 'used' look. They brought me in to settle the debate."

"I thought the story was what made it special?" Peter muttered in George's — Neal's — ear. He wished Peter wouldn't distract him like that. He wasn't able to explain right now that the story was important to _Randy_ , but that James was more of an industrialist than a romantic. George, of course, believed in whatever he needed to at the moment.

"Fascinating," James agreed, then quickly shook his head and walked behind his desk. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked one of the drawers and pulled out the briefcase they had given him two months ago. "Well, here it is," he said, opening the snaps and spinning it around.

Neal barely had to fake his appreciation as he slid into the seat before the desk. He had made the necklace, after all, and been the one to distress it, but he still greatly appreciated the craftsmanship it took to "restore" it. "Oh James, you are a genius. May I?" he reached for a nearby jewelers loupe.

"Of course!" James chortled.

Scooping up the loupe, George bent to the sparkling necklace, his eye skating over the gems he had supplied and focusing on the Alexandrite — particularly the 10 carat statement piece in the center. "The clarity is amazing. Have you ever—" he half gestured at Diana, then waved dismissively. "Ugh, Catherine here wouldn't know a carat if it bit her," he confided in James. "I'll have to be impressed for the both of us."

Diana shifted slightly, in a move that could be interpreted as boredom, but which Neal knew meant she'd make him pay for that comment later.

"Of course I had no doubt you could do it," George went on to reassure James, "but it does take your breath away, all fixed up, doesn't it?"

"I completely agree," James said cheerfully.

"You know, Nancy's middle name is Alexandra; if your man can get you stones like these… you think a pendant? For her birthday this year?"

"I'm not sure he could find another 10 carat…" James began.

"Oh no, of course not," George agreed. "Five or so would be fine. I'm well off, but I'm not that rich!" He and James exchanged grins that said otherwise.

"I tell you what; you send me a few pictures of her favorite pieces and I'll design it myself," James agreed.

"That would be wonderful, completely make up for me forgetting and half-assing it last year," George agreed. "I'll shoot you an email this week."

George set down the jeweler's loupe and reached for the briefcase lid. "In the meantime, I'll take this to my client and—"

The man at the workbench suddenly dropped his small hammer on the table. James glanced over at him and then sighed, looking sorrowful. "No."

"No?" George glanced over at the unfamiliar man, who was staring back at him. "Did he make a mistake? I'll get out of your hair, then, let you deal—"

"No, George," James reached out and yanked back the briefcase, pulling it out of George's reach. "I'm sorry, but—"

"James, what is this?" George looked between them in confusion. Behind him, Diana took a half-step forward. Neal's mind was spinning, trying to figure out the best way out of the situation if necessary. Europol would kill him if he didn't get back their real alexandrite.

"I didn't want to believe it," James said sadly, "I trusted you, George, but…" he snapped the lid down, revealing a handgun held behind it. Diana reached for her own gun, but James swung his to cover her. "Not so fast Miss — Catherine, I believe it was?"

"Miss Woodward to you," she growled back. James nodded his head in acknowledgment.

To the side, the man at the table also rose, pulling out his own gun. Neal's mind was racing furiously, but he tried to remain calm, to remain George for just a little while longer. "James, I don't — is it about the money? Surely there's no need to bring _guns_ into it." Hopefully that clue would get Peter moving, though he should have been moving the moment he saw the gun though the glasses cam. "Are you in trouble? I can give you a loan. I— I can give you my cut of th—"

"Shut up, snitch," the other man snarled.

Neal heard a very quiet "shit" in his ear.

"Snitch?" Neal replied, still desperately clinging to George's tone and mannerisms. They might have figured out that he was working with Europol, but not that George himself was an alias. He had to do his best not to burn this. Europol would never let him alone if they thought he lost their gems on purpose. "What— I don't understand. James?"

"Drop the act," the second man — who Neal now suspected was the actual Alexandrite source, and wouldn't Peter be having words with surveillance for not telling them that the secondary target was on site — snarled and took a step forward, waving his gun between Neal and Diana. "She's a Fed."

Neal let out a short, explosive breath. _Diana's _cover was the one blown, not his. He raced to come up with an explanation. "Oh, I see. This is just a misunderstanding. No no, Catherine here _used_ to be a Fed; that's where she got her training. But she's been a civilian for quite a while now. She came highly recommended to me by a good friend — Haversham — and he wouldn't touch an active Fed with a ten-foot pole. It's very common to hire— I never thought anyone would think she was still—" Neal — no, George — half turned towards Diana, drawing the focus of the gunman on himself.__

__"Catherine, what's Clinton — Anthony Clinton, he's my other guard," George added as an aside to James, "— he was a police officer, wasn't he? Before he came to work for me?"_ _

__"He was," Diana nodded shortly._ _

__"There, you see?" George spread his hands and smiled winningly at his associate. Desperately he hoped that Jones and Peter got the message. If Jones could provide backup in the guise of a second guard, if they could pretend to be the police instead of Feds, they might just save this op._ _

__James had faltered, his gun now almost touching the desk as he nodded, "Of course, George, I understand. I prefer the military myself, but I've had guards over the years who had been on the force. You see, Clarence, I told you it was all just a misunderstanding!" James said to the man — Clarence — who was still aiming his gun at Neal._ _

__"No names you idiot!" Clarence hissed, glaring at James._ _

__Diana took the opportunity when his attention shifted to pull her own handgun and train it on him. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped pointing that at my boss," she said coolly. James had half-raised his own gun again, but let it slip back down as she spoke._ _

__"She's quite right," James began, "this is clearly a mistake. I'm so sorry George, but you can't be too careful in our line of work," he apologized._ _

__"I'm telling you, they're Feds!" Clarence insisted. "I told you him wanting Alexandrite was suspicious, but you wouldn't listen! I told you she was a Fed and you're _apologizing_? I told the boss you were a liability; you kept insisting you knew him—"_ _

__"We've known each other for years," George said helpfully, but the phrase "the boss" had sent his mind reeling again. If this wasn't the source, they needed him alive to point them at the actual forger._ _

__"Shut up!" The shout came with a bang, followed by a second. In the relief that the first shot had missed him, Neal barely registered the fact that Diana had hit Clarence in the shoulder, was kicking his gun away and putting him into a chokehold. Adrenaline at the close call made Neal's heart pound, and he didn't even need to fake pressing his hand to his chest to calm it._ _

__George looked over at James and saw his gun unsteadily aimed at Diana again. "James, please…" he began._ _

__A shout from the front of the boutique interrupted. "Boss?"_ _

__"In the back, Anthony!" George called._ _

__A moment later, Jones burst in, his own gun drawn. He immediately dismissed James and aimed at Diana's hostage. "James, this is Anthony Clinton, my other guard," George introduced them as calmly as though they were meeting over lunch._ _

__James hesitated, then set his own gun down on his desk. "I'm sorry, George, I had no idea—" he began._ _

__"No no," George held his hand up to forestall the apology, feeling his heart still racing. "I understand. I—" He faltered; James was looking at him with dawning horror. George turned his upraised hand, and noticed that it was bright red._ _

__Looking down made Neal's head swim, but the dark stain spreading across his ribs was unmistakable. "Oh!" How had he not felt the shot? He wondered absently._ _

__"Boss!" Diana shouted, worried._ _

__"Sir," he heard Clinton say, and Neal swung his head to look at him, but Jones was staring at James, not himself. "I'm calling 911. Am I reporting an attempted robbery of you and your customer, or am I reporting a set-up to kill my boss?" Jones was holding his phone in his hand, and from his angle Neal could see his fingers already moving._ _

__Clarence tried to say something, but Diana cut him off, aggressively tightening her hold._ _

__"I— I—" James stuttered, then sighed. "Call in the robbery."_ _

__The rest escaped Neal, as he drew in a breath to speak and instead felt his lungs enveloped in white hot agony. The gunshot seemed to be making up for lost time by flooding him with twice as much pain as necessary._ _

__Neal was aware of someone putting pressure on his chest and stomach — he thought it was Jones, but his vision had tunneled alarmingly — and voices talking over his head. He could swear he heard Peter, but he wasn't sure if it was over his earbud or in the room beside him. Neal bit down on the desire to call Peter's name; they had salvaged the op, their covers intact, and the last thing he needed was to blow it by calling out for Peter._ _

__A pinch in his arm meant the EMTs had arrived — far faster than Neal thought they should have, and he wondered if Peter had called them before he was even shot. Warmth spread out from his arm, fighting back the agony from his stomach, and Neal couldn't help but picture little gem-like cells, armed with glaives, marching through his veins in some kind of pain skirmish. The thought made him chuckle; the last thing he did before darkness swamped him._ _

* * *

__Peter paced up and down the hospital hallway, knowing that he was causing a scene and not caring. He had been in the ER waiting room, initially, but it was obvious that his agitation was upsetting the patients waiting there. He had allowed a nurse to talk him into relocating to the hallway, provided that she retrieved him the moment he could go to Neal. Instead, he found himself reliving the blown operation over and over._ _

* * *

__Peter didn't do well with waiting while his people were undercover; he preferred to be alongside them, but that wasn't an option this time with Europol calling the shots. At least the first time through, Neal's glasses had given them eyes on the room, but this time the feed had gone grey and wibbly half a block from Taylor's boutique._ _

__The Europol tech had frantically pushed some buttons before declaring that it was their monitor, then assured them that the recording function should still be operative. They would watch the feed later, but wouldn't have live eyes on the scene._ _

__With the appointment time almost on them, and with Peter's assurance that Neal wouldn't pocket the necklace, they'd agreed not to pull him or Diana out. The lead Europol agent — Lahiri — had made the choice not to even tell Neal, clearly under the premise that what he didn't know couldn't be used against them. Part of Peter wanted to protest, but he'd used that trick against Neal often enough himself to lack the moral high ground._ _

__It wasn't like he could say "he wouldn't take them, because he knows I'd make him sleep on the couch if he started backsliding towards criminality." Still, the thought of doing so put a small smile on Peter's face for a few minutes._ _

__Everything else had seemed to go smoothly at first, and Neal had used the proper code to signify that the gems were there, but that he'd need more time to authenticate them._ _

__The hammer dropping had startled him, and Peter glanced at the Europol agent with an unspoken question._ _

__"Probably the employee," Lahiri whispered back._ _

__Before Peter could fully process that there was another employee inside, and that this was yet another thing that Europol hadn't deigned to tell him or his team, he heard Neal's voice change pitch. "James, what is this?"_ _

__Clearly something was happening, and Peter snapped his attention back to the headset. Neither Neal nor Diana had given their "get me out now" phrase, but his gut had started churning._ _

__Their first mark, Taylor, was speaking. "I didn't want to believe it. I trusted you, George, but…" a short pause, then "Not so fast Miss — Catherine, I believe it was?"_ _

__"Miss Woodward to you," Diana growled back as Peter tried to picture what was happening._ _

__Neal was speaking, quickly, and his words made Peter's heart sink. "James, I don't — is it about the money? Surely there's no need to bring _guns_ into it."_ _

__"Guns?" Peter tabbed over to the channel for the support team and spoke over the rest of Neal's words. "They've got guns? Hawkins, prepare to move out-"_ _

__"Shut up, snitch," an unidentified man — the one Europol hadn't told him about — snarled over the headset._ _

__"Shit," Peter breathed, focusing on Neal again._ _

__The revelation that it was Diana's cover that had been blown was surprising, but didn't change much. Peter's hand was hovering over the button when Neal began talking again. To Peter's amazement, it sounded like he might actually be recovering the op._ _

__As Neal spun out a perfectly plausible explanation, Peter kept his finger hovering over the button, ready to call in reinforcements. "Catherine, what's Clinton — Anthony Clinton, he's my other guard — he was a police officer, wasn't he? Before he came to work for me?"_ _

__Peter jabbed the button. "Jones, did you catch that?"_ _

__"I did, Peter," Jones replied immediately. "I'm right outside the door, ready to back them up."_ _

__"Police — we need to pretend to be the police," Peter continued aloud. "Caffrey's saving this op for us. If we go in as Feds, they'll know the jig is up. Does anyone have a police uniform? Or anything that doesn't say FBI or Europol?"_ _

__"We have locals on standby, in case of a foot chase," Lahiri said, then pressed her own comlink. "I need uniformed police officers on their way; everyone else hang back awaiting my specific command." Then she eyed Peter. "If they can salvage this…"_ _

__Peter nodded in agreement, already focusing back on the audio feed. Taylor was speaking, "—Clarence, I told you it was all just a misunderstanding!"_ _

__"No names you idiot!" the second man complained, even as Peter and Lahiri both glanced at the transcriptionist. He gave them a thumbs up; they had a name._ _

__The next voice was Diana's, cool and in command, and Peter knew from her assured tone that she must have her gun drawn. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped pointing that at my boss." She was also staying in character, like Neal._ _

__"Uniformed police are fifteen minutes out," Lahiri muttered._ _

__"I'm telling you, they're Feds!" Clarence insisted. "I told you him wanting Alexandrite was suspicious, but you wouldn't listen! I told you she was a Fed and you're _apologizing_? I told the boss you were a liability; you kept insisting you knew him—"_ _

__"The boss?" Peter and Lahiri said almost simultaneously. Peter immediately thanked god that Neal seemed to be salvaging this. If Taylor and this Clarence were as low rung as they now appeared, then the FBI might need these covers intact to find the actual source of the forged Alexandrite. He also hadn't missed the "suspicious" comment — apparently Europol's pursuit wasn't exactly under the radar. He quickly jotted a note to have the techs at the Bureau fully backstop these three identities. Neal's was likely somewhat solid already, but Diana's wasn't, and Jones's had just been literally created out of thin air by Neal._ _

__A yell was immediately followed by two gunshots, and Peter was on his feet without realizing it. The lack of immediate code phrases from either of his team members was only slightly reassuring. Neal speaking took his worry down half a notch. If Neal, at least, was capable of speaking and not of requesting a rescue, then maybe… "Hold positions," he snapped. "Jones?"_ _

__"Already on it," Jones whispered. Peter almost immediately heard him yell, echoed on Neal and Diana's feeds. "Boss?"_ _

__"In the back, Anthony!" Neal called, then proceeded to calmly introduce Clinton's hasty alias to Taylor as though they were at a freaking tea party. Peter was just starting to unclench his hands when he heard a quiet, worrying "oh!" from Neal._ _

__Diana's cry of "Boss!" did nothing to help his composure._ _

__"Ten minutes," Lahiri reassured him._ _

__"Hawkins, get me medics, yesterday," Peter growled at his second team. There was a chance he was overreacting, but his gut told him otherwise._ _

__"Sir, I'm calling 911." Jones was saying. "Am I reporting an attempted robbery of you and your customer, or am I reporting a set-up to kill my boss?"_ _

__Peter's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he saw it was Jones. He waved the rest of the room silent and accepted the call, saying nothing._ _

__Taylor sighed. "Call in the robbery."_ _

__A moment later, Peter heard Jones in stereo on his phone and headset. "Yes, hello, I need an ambulance and police at my location," Jones said, and Peter did his best to play 911 dispatcher, knowing that the ambulance and police were already on their way. He quickly talked Jones through the basics of applying pressure — they both knew what to do, but any 911 operator would have talked him through it — until finally Peter heard the sound of sirens arriving._ _

__Once Jones hung up, Peter grabbed his mic and toggled on the channel for his team's earbuds. "Hang in there, Neal," he muttered, not particularly concerned that the rest of his and Lahiri's teams could hear. "You did good."_ _

__Neal didn't reply, and Peter didn't know whether to be alarmed or grateful that even now Neal wasn't breaking cover. After that, it took another half hour for the mop up. Jones and Diana maintained their cover right through, with Diana electing to accompany Neal to the hospital, but not until after she had retrieved her "boss's" property — the briefcase with the necklace._ _

__With Jones nominally in charge of the scene inside, coordinating with the local leos who had been read in, Peter recalled Hawkins. On the off chance that Clarence's boss was watching, they couldn't afford to have Feds bust in on a simple robbery — not after Neal and Diana had done such a good job of preserving their cover._ _

__Once the team was back in their command room, Peter grabbed Hawkins. "Follow them to the ER, discreetly," he ordered. "I want two of your guys on protection there; keep Barrigan and Caffrey safe. You and the other get that case from her, make sure the necklace is still there, and lock it back up at the office. You'll be accompanied by—"_ _

__He glanced at Lahiri, who immediately said "Agent Schulz."_ _

__"—Agent Schulz, for Europol," Peter concluded. "Got that?"_ _

__"Got it, Sir!" Hawkins replied. He swiftly turned and gathered his men, with one of the Europol guys drifting over to join. Peter recognized him as one that had frequently babysat Neal as he crafted the necklace._ _

__A quiet "Ma'am," drew both Lahiri and Peter's attention back to the transcriptionist, who pointed at their headphones._ _

__Pulling them back on, Peter heard their mark, Taylor, offering Jones an apology for his "boss" and another protestation that he had no idea what Clarence had been thinking. Jones accepted it, and then Peter heard him giving the police a burner FBI number as his own._ _

__Peter quickly jotted it down; Taylor had heard it, and if he tried to get back in touch with Neal through it, they'd need to make sure that they answered appropriately._ _

__Finally, shortly after the ambulance pulled out, Peter heard Jones being turned loose by the police. "They know to come to you?" he asked Lahiri._ _

__"They do," she agreed. "We'll maintain surveillance, for now."_ _

__"You want the boss," Peter said, though it wasn't a question. Neal had saved the op, given them a chance to get that boss. There was no way that an agent as driven as Lahiri had shown herself to be wouldn't be desperate to accept that chance._ _

__"I do. You're heading to the hospital?" It also wasn't really a question._ _

__"I am," Peter agreed, glad he wouldn't need to explain. Then, just before removing his headphones, he toggled the coms again. "Jones, circle to the back of the building to pick me up," he ordered._ _

* * *

__That had been four hours ago, and Peter had been at the hospital since. He and Jones had missed the briefcase handoff by about ten minutes, but found Diana by the simple expedient of spotting the other two agents guarding a curtained off cubicle._ _

__Nodding at them, Peter and Jones ducked inside. The gurney was missing, as was Neal, but Diana was sitting in a chair. She had a few small bandages on her arm, and Peter looked at them pointedly. "He scratched me," she explained easily. Having already heard about the headlock when the police arrived, Peter had no trouble picturing the suspect clawing at Diana's arm while she held him._ _

__"Neal?" Peter asked._ _

__"In surgery," was the succinct reply._ _

__From then on, there was nothing for Peter to do but wait. He had called El between client meetings, texted Mozzie, left a message for June before remembering that she was in Italy, sent Diana home, relieved the agents acting as guards, and dispatched Jones back to the office to shore up their covers with tech. And then he paced._ _

__Finally, a familiar voice called his name. "Peter?"_ _

__Spinning around halfway through his route down the corridor, Peter saw the nurse who had kicked him out of the waiting room. Beside her was the person who had spoken; Diana's Christie. Peter felt a surge of relief that she had been Neal's doctor, and that he wouldn't have to explain everything to her. He also tried not to read anything into the streak of blood on her scrub top, or the fact that Diana hadn't told him that Christie was the one taking care of Neal. "Christie!"_ _

__"I've got it from here," she told the nurse, and then met Peter halfway._ _

__"How is he?" Peter asked._ _

__"Doing alright, considering," Christie said immediately, cheering Peter up. "He gave the EMTs what I assume is an alias, so I didn't realize he was here until he was wheeled into my surgery," she continued._ _

__Peter gave in to the urge to smack his forehead with his palm. That explained why Diana hadn't warned him. "Well then thank god it's you; I don't know how to explain my relationship to _George_. Diana only had a few scratches."_ _

__Christie accepted that news back with a smile of her own — Peter didn't know if she had known that Neal wasn't admitted alone, but she likely knew that Diana was undercover, and seeing a member of the team in the hospital had probably freaked her out a little. "Would you like me to maintain their cover?"_ _

__Peter thought about it for a moment, his mind was rushing through the possibilities. If they needed Neal to follow up with Taylor, the hospital stay might be an important detail. On the other hand, El would want to be here, just like Peter. Neal's pictures of George's wife Nancy were always blonde, but he had also invented siblings for her; perhaps they could pretend to be his sister and brother-in-law. "Yeah… yeah. We shouldn't need it, but just in case…"_ _

__"Alright," Christie accepted that easily, and once again Peter found himself grateful that she had happened to be on shift today. Between that and Neal saving the op, it felt almost like they were having a bit of good luck to counteract the bad of Neal ending up here in the first place._ _

__"Now, what can you tell me?" Peter asked._ _

__"N- George was shot in the upper abdomen," Christie only stumbled slightly over his name. "The bullet entered on the right side and chipped his tenth — lowest — rib. It shredded his gallbladder — which I had to remove — clipped his liver, and then lodged in the back of the same rib on the left side." She demonstrated on her own torso as she talked, pointing out the trajectory as she explained._ _

__"As I said, we removed the gallbladder, repaired the damage to the liver, and took out both the bullet and the fragment of rib from the front," she continued. "We don't think it clipped anything else — his lungs were clear — but we're keeping a close eye out for surprise bleeders. Barring any complications along those lines, he should be able to go home in a few days. The ribs will take about two months to fully heal, but the rest will take much less. He's just starting to come around from the anesthetic, but the pain killers will have him pretty out of it for a while. Once he's out of recovery and into a room you'll be able to see him."_ _

__"Thanks, Christie," Peter clasped her hand gratefully. "I appreciate this." She squeezed his hand back, and then was off again to the next patient. As soon as she was gone, Peter sent out another round of texts. The first went to Diana, Jones, and the rest of the team to let them know to maintain the cover. The second went to El and Mozzie, to explain the same thing; if they wanted in to see Neal, they needed to use his alias and have their own explanations for their presence. Christie would let him in, but after that, anyone else would have to go through the nurses._ _

__After almost an hour, during which Peter managed to calm his agitated pacing, Christie did indeed return to escort him up to Neal's new room. As soon as he reached the door, Peter texted the room number to Diana and Jones for the guard team, and then El and Mozzie._ _

__Then, unable to put it off any longer, Peter finally opened the door and entered Neal's room. With his head still angled down, the first thing Peter saw was Neal's feet, and he started his inspection there._ _

__Neal's feet were covered by a thin blanket, which was pulled up low on his hips. Peeking out the top were the blue scrub pants Neal had been put in. The reason he wasn't in a standard hospital gown became clear as Peter lifted his gaze. Neal's chest was bare, save for the bandages and dressings that sprawled across his abdomen. Some sort of drainage tube was emerging from one swath of bandages and taped down his side. Clearly they had decided that access to his surgical site was the most important consideration._ _

__If Peter kept his gaze on Neal's chest and neck, he could imagine for a moment that nothing was wrong. The sheets beneath him were the wrong color, but other than that, Peter could pretend that they were home, in bed, and that Neal was just sleeping. He could imagine that El had already gotten up — was downstairs making coffee — and that Peter was standing here ready to wake Neal up and tell him to get ready for work. Even the beep of the heart rate monitor could be mistaken for a quiet alarm clock._ _

__Unfortunately, none of it was true._ _

__Peter forced his gaze higher, to Neal's face. Usually Neal was slightly tense in his sleep, a product of years of living on the run. Only when he was drugged, or utterly blissed out after sex, did his face completly relax. Right now, Neal's face was tense, pinched with pain that the IV in his elbow didn't seem to combat. He had a nasal cannula, but thankfully wasn't intubated. Still, Peter couldn't stop himself from stepping to Neal's side and grabbing his free hand, brushing his bangs off his forehead. Neal always looked younger when his bangs flopped across his forehead._ _

__Eventually Peter let go long enough to pull up a chair, but he wasn't sure exactly how much time passed before he heard the raised voices in the hall._ _

__"As you can see, my maiden name is Donnelly," El's voice was unmistakable, "now I'd like to see my brother, thank you."_ _

__"Here's the door number, sweetie," came a second voice, and Peter's jaw dropped as he realized it was Mozzie. Why the hell was Mozzie calling Peter's wife 'sweetie'?_ _

__A moment later, the door was opened by Mozzie, and he waved El in ahead of him. Behind them, Peter saw a frustrated nurse, and Mozzie seemed pleased to shut the door in her face._ _

__"Hon!" El immediately rushed to give Peter a hug and kiss, forestalling his questions. As she did, however, he felt a hand slip into his pocket. As soon as El let go of him to grab Neal's hand, Peter slid the object out of his pocket, using her body to shield his actions from the door's window._ _

__He had been slipped two cards: the first was a driver's license with his photo, but the name Peter Louis Donnelly-Armstrong. The second was an employee ID card on a clip for an accounting firm, with another picture of himself and the same alias. They were good, especially in the short timeframe. Clearly El had shown her own ID with that surname to prove her relationship to Neal. Peter gave Mozzie — who was hovering by Neal's feet — a look. Clearing his throat, Moz dropped his gaze first. "I take it, this is your work?" Peter asked quietly. He didn't think the nurse would eavesdrop at the door, but they couldn't be too careful._ _

__El elbowed him gently. "Don't intimidate uncle Moz," she chided him._ _

__Peter sighed, but unobtrusively clipped the employee ID to his jacket before slipping the license into his wallet. He had been the one who wanted to maintain Neal's cover, and to tell them they needed aliases. An uncle and a sister — with husband — were family, and could certainly fit into Neal's cover. Assuming that Neal hadn't already created and mentioned some unknown family members. Although, come to think of it, Mozzie might have actually known about that, and cleared the relationship._ _

__"So, _Uncle Moz_ ," Peter said quietly," George has a sister?"_ _

__"Two of them," Moz replied back as quietly. "But the youngest — Mary — is abroad. Don't worry, his guards have met them."_ _

__That had to be code for Jones and Diana — clearly Moz and El had coordinated their backstopping efforts. "And Nancy?" Peter asked pointedly._ _

__"You remember, hon, I told you she was in Spain with her brother, helping with the baby," El tapped his arm. "I swear you never listen when I tell you about my talks with George."_ _

__"Hmm…" Peter thought about it and decided that would work. Short of finding someone in the office who fit the photos, that was the best they could do. "And—"_ _

__"Oh, Dillon is spending the night at a friend's," Mozzie chimed in immediately._ _

__"Good," a voice startled them. Peter's gaze shot to Neal; his eyes were still closed, but it seemed he was awake now. "I don't want him to see me in here like this," Neal continued groggily. The machines picked up their beeping, and Peter knew the nurse could be coming in at any second. He was surprised that Neal was conscious and lucid enough to maintain his cover, however._ _

__"I knew you wouldn't," El said, squeezing his hand and brushing back his hair from his forehead._ _

__Peter couldn't tell if she whispered something to him or not, but as the door opened, Neal said, "Thanks sis; knew you'd understand."_ _

__"We'll call him a little later, if you're up for it," Mozzie said._ _

__"Thanks Uncle Moz," Neal said quietly; his eyes were still closed, and Peter was beginning to suspect that the light hurt them._ _

__The nurse had reached his bedside now, and started giving Neal instructions. Peter and Moz backed off slightly, to give her room, but El refused to leave Neal's side, or let go of his hand. The nurse seemed grumpy, but Peter couldn't tell if that was from having to work around El, or residual for the hallway scene earlier._ _

__Peter was more grateful than ever to Christie for letting him in before. It would have killed him — and El — to know that Neal was wounded and be unable to check up on him because he was still undercover. They couldn't be his lovers, but they could be by his side, and right now that was enough._ _

__El and Neal shared the same brown hair and blue eyes — Peter couldn't lie, he had a type — that made the sibling relationship believable. Hell, Mozzie had the same coloring, though Peter could never imagine _him_ being his type! Regardless, it all made it easier to maintain the cover. And as long as maintaining the cover meant that Peter and El could hover at their lover's bedside, he was all for it._ _

__Finally, the nurse left, but Neal drifted off a few moments later. They stayed by his side, however, until growling stomachs led Mozzie to leave and return with dinner. They remained by Neal's side as Jones returned to resume his role as bodyguard, until finally a different nurse insisted that visiting hours were over and that everyone had to leave._ _

__Peter waited long enough to ensure that Jones was refusing to leave — "Someone shot my boss today," he'd told the nurse, "and I'm not leaving his side so that someone can finish the job" — before he finally escorted El out. Mozzie disappeared with a comment about disinfecting himself, leaving Peter and El to return to their home._ _

__Once they were in the car, Peter finally felt safe explaining to El what had happened in more detail. She, in turn, explained about Mozzie's dossier on George Donnelly that they had used to forge his family connections, and how impressed she was at the speed of his ID-making. Peter was slightly less impressed, but couldn't bring himself to be upset: not when the results had let him and El remain by Neal's side without blowing the Europol op._ _

__Tomorrow, Peter promised himself, he'd return to the office and get back to the case. El had already arranged to take the day off and hover by Neal, and with Diana on shift to protect them both, Peter had to trust that they'd be alright. In the meantime, he had a gem forger to capture._ _

* * *

__Neal woke up, confused for a moment as to where he was. The darkness and warmth told him he was awake, and the light snores and lack of machinery beeping told him that he was out of the hospital. Unlike the first few times he had woken up, when blood loss and pain had made him confused, this time he was able to easily run down the list of clues._ _

__He had thought that his days of waking up silently and taking stock, trying to remember his alias, were long past him, but Neal hadn't lost his skill. Hearing El, Peter, and Mozzie was reassuring, but Neal knew he still had to be George._ _

__This time Neal was safely tucked into bed with the Burkes, just as himself. The first night he had been in the middle, where both of his lovers could cuddle up and assure themselves that he was still alive. But El tended to move around in her sleep, and after the first accidental blow to his still-tender gut they had shifted around. Now Neal was on the outside, behind Peter, as far from potentially flailing limbs as possible._ _

__Neal should have been sleeping soundly; he'd been out of the hospital for almost two weeks, and today — make that yesterday, given the bedside clock had just flipped to 1:42 — Peter and Europol had finally caught the Alexandrite forger._ _

__They'd brought him the necklace in the hospital, once he was well enough to see straight, and he'd confirmed that the stones were false. Between the police questioning of Clarence and continuing surveillance of James Taylor, the team had finally found their source. Thomasi Carmichael, international auction owner and his half-brother, geochemist Antonio Muskage. Carmichael was the backer and planner, Muskage the one to figure out how to make the actual gems._ _

__When Europol and Peter took them down today — yesterday — they found a list of sources and potential sources for distributing the fake alexandrite. Some were knowing fences, like James Taylor, getting their own cut of the profits. Others were unknowing pawns, like George Donnelly would have been._ _

__The biggest surprise was that they also had a list of potential targets, and Donnelly was the last one on it. It appeared that they had bought his cover and his offhand comment about getting an alexandrite necklace for his wife and were making plans to use him as an unwitting fence._ _

__Also in the files were copies of "George's" medical records, and surveillance photos from the hospital of his family and bodyguards. Everything they could find indicated that, not only had Carmichael checked into his alias thoroughly, but that their covers had held._ _

__In the interests of maintaining the ruse, in case it was necessary to use George Donnelly to help take down the European side of the enterprise, Europol and Hughes had agreed not to burn their aliases, but instead use the other evidence gathered to bring Carmichael and Muskage down._ _

__With the exception of the part where he'd been shot, it was a perfect ending from Neal's perspective. They'd gotten the bad guys, Peter hadn't burned a perfectly good alias, and he had one or two friendly faces in Europol now._ _

__Which begged the question, if it had gone so well, why Neal was wide awake at a quarter to two in the morning. He wasn't in pain, he wasn't worried, he just… wasn't tired either._ _

__"Stop thinking so loudly," Peter suddenly muttered._ _

__Neal's gaze shot over at him, just barely able to see Peter's profile from the faint streetlight glow leaking through the curtains. Neal couldn't see him clearly enough to tell, but he was certain that Peter's eyes were open, watching him. "Sorry," he whispered back._ _

__"Don't need to apologize," Peter said. He gently laid a hand on Neal's hip, careful to avoid any tender areas. "Want to talk about it?"_ _

__"There's nothing to talk about," Neal replied, and it wasn't even a lie. He had already gone over it in his head and he wasn't sure why he was even awake, other than a vague thought that he had gotten a month's worth of sleep in the last two weeks and was now aiming in the opposite direction._ _

__"Want to watch something?" Peter offered._ _

__A few times in the past, when Neal had struggled to sleep, he'd crept downstairs and watched the TV until he zonked out._ _

__"No, don't want to move," Neal decided._ _

__"Hmmm… want a distraction?" Peter finally offered._ _

__"Tempting, but El would kill us if we didn't wake her, and she's got an early meeting tomorrow," Neal pointed out. Even though Neal had been cleared for non-vigorous activities by his doctor, he didn't think it would be right to have the first time without El._ _

__Peter lightly slapped his hip. "Not what I mean, and you know it," he pouted. They had already had more than one conversation about Neal apologizing for being too tired and in pain for sex, and Peter had finally growled at Neal that sex wasn't the only thing they saw in him. Intellectually, Neal knew that, but it was hard to turn off a lifetime of thinking otherwise. People always needed him for _something_ , and being wanted just for his presence was taking a little while to fully incorporate._ _

__"What did you mean, then?" Neal asked, genuinely unsure._ _

__"Talking," Peter said simply. "Sharing whatever's running around in your mind until you're able to turn it off and sleep."_ _

__"Oh," Neal had so rarely been able to have that kind of connection with anyone — it wasn't surprising he hadn't figured out what Peter was offering. The more he thought about it, though— "couldn't hurt."_ _

__"What were you thinking?" Peter asked, his thumb making a tiny, lazy circle on Neal's hip._ _

__"Carmichael, Europol, grateful you didn't burn George this time," Neal offered._ _

__"You still managed to name me after my dog," Peter grumbled._ _

__"I think you'll find that Mozzie is the one who named you after Louis Armstrong this time," Neal disagreed._ _

__Peter just harrumphed._ _

__"It could have been worse," Neal offered. "Moz doesn't have the best track record with naming things._ _

__"Oh?"_ _

__"He could've named you Tuesday. Or Jacobi Tabernacle. Or Maurice O'hanrahanigan," Neal ticked off the names._ _

__"You're pulling my leg." Neal could hear the disbelief in Peter's tone, and took pleasure in being able to correct him._ _

__"Nope. I've got his fake IDs to prove it."_ _

__"Ugh," Peter slumped into his pillow. "I guess this one wasn't that bad after all."_ _

__"Mister Satchmo's looking better and better by comparison, huh?" Neal teased._ _

__"It really is," Peter groaned softly._ _

__They were both silent for a long moment, thinking, before Peter asked, "You really send out Christmas cards?"_ _

__"Only George does," Neal said quickly. "Nick's not the type."_ _

__"And how does that work? Your smiling family photo?" Peter sounded genuinely curious._ _

__Neal smirked. "Mozzie is very good at photoshop"_ _

__Peter couldn't dispute that, apparently, as he dropped the subject._ _

__Neal was content to lay in silence for a little while. He still wasn't sleepy, but there was nowhere he'd rather be right now, stitches and all._ _


End file.
